Joe Morgan, grown to new stature during this time of trial, has carefully husbanded his strength, has made no move so flagrant as to cause a punitive column to be sent to the small take. He has sent his men on recruiting missions and his force has grown to over two hundred.
Seventy miles away is a small city where, before the invasion, there was a splendid medical center. A spy returns and reports to Joseph Morgan that the doctors from the medical center have been impressed into the medical service of the Invader, that they work in the original medical center, now filled with Invader troops.
Joe Morgan remembers a feature story he once wrote — on a certain Dr. Horace Montclair.
Five days before the adjusted were to reach their emotional peak, their five-day orgy, Joe Morgan, leading a picked group of ten men, crouched in the back of a big truck while another of his men, dressed in a captured uniform, drove the truck up to the gate of the medical center.
The gate guard sauntered over to the cab window, reached a hand up for the transportation pass. The entrenching tool smashed the guard’s throat and he dropped without a sound. The truck rolled up to the main building and Joe led the ten men inside.
In the stone corridor the weapons made a sound like a massive hammering on thick metal.
But four men backed with Joe out the door to the waiting truth. One of them was Dr. Montclair.
The dead guard had been found. Whistles shrilled near the gate. Joe, at the wheel, raced the truck motor, smashed the slowly closing gates, rode down the men who stood in his path.
He took the road west out of town, as planned, pursuit in swifter vehicles shrilling behind them.
At the appointed place he stopped the truck. The five of them ran awkwardly across the field, dropped into a shallow ditch. The pursuit screamed to a stop by the abandoned truck. A patrol spread out, advanced slowly across the field.
At the proper moment Joe shouted. The rest of his command, the full two hundred, opened up with a curtain of fire. Two men of the patrol turned, tried to race back, and they, too, were smashed down by the aimed fire.
In the black night they circled the town, headed back across country to the quiet lake. The return trip took three days.
The windows of the cabin were carefully sealed. Joe Morgan sat at the table facing Dr. Montclair. They were alone, except for Alice who sat back in the shadows. She, like Joe Morgan, had acquired a new strength, a new resolution, born both of anger and despair and the shared weight of command.
“It was daring, my friend,” the doctor said. He was a small man with too large a head, too frail a body, looking oddly like an aging, clever child.
“It was something we had to do,” Joe said, “or go nuts sitting here waiting for company.”
“I didn’t care for you, Mr. Morgan, when you interviewed me. I thought you lacked integrity of any sort.”
Joe grinned, “And now I’ve got some?”
“Maybe that wryness which is an essential part of you is what all men need in these times. But we are getting too philosophical, my friend. What can I do for you?”
“Doc, you’ve studied this Trojan Horse of theirs, where the people defeat themselves. What’s the answer?”
“Just like that? The answer?” Dr. Montclair snapped his fingers. “Out of the air? Answers have to be tested. I have suppositions only.”
“There isn’t much time to set up a lab to do the testing. Just pick your best supposition and we’ll work on it.”
Dr. Montclair rubbed his sharp chin, stared at the table top. “Obviously one of the basic qualities of the disease, and we will call it that, is the progressive infectiousness of it. The peaks are intensified by the proximity of the other victims. Thus one possible answer is isolation. But the infected must be thinned out to such an extent that they do not, in turn, infect their neighbors, eh?”
“Oh, sure. Thirty-something million people, so we isolate them.”
“Do not be sarcastic, Mr. Morgan. Another thought is whether, if a man were drugged heavily enough, it would delay his cycle so that his peak would come at a different time, thus destroying the synchronization which appears to be the cause of resonance.”
“Look, Doc, those suppositions are interesting, but we have a little war on our hands. I’ve been wondering how we can turn their Trojan Horse against them. A horse on them, you might say.”
“They have withdrawn from the focal points of infection, my boy. They are unwilling to risk infection of their troops.”
“How many men would you say they have inside our borders?”
“I can make a guess through having seen consolidated medical reports. Forty divisions, I believe. With service troops you could estimate the total strength at one and a quarter millions.”
Joe Morgan whistled softly.
He said: “In two days the peak of hysteria hits again. The cities will be like... like something never seen before on earth. How does the invader plan to handle it after all resistance has stopped?”
Montclair spread his hands, shrugged his shoulders. “Do they care? Left alone the thirty-something millions will at least tear themselves apart. The human mind cannot stand that constant pattern. Suicide, laughing murder. They will cease to be a problem and then the empty cities can be occupied safely.”
“There’s nothing we can do in time for the next big binge?”
“Nothing,” Montclair said sadly.
“Then we’ve got roughly thirty-two days to dream up a plan and put it in operation. What’ve we got? A few hundred men, ample supplies, a hidden base and some expert technical knowledge. We’re not too bad off, Doc. Not too bad off at all.”
VIII
STATUS SUMMARY, RADIO REPORT BY COMMANDING GENERAL, EXPEDITIONARY FORCES: Resistance continued to stiffen up until ten days ago. Then, when the peak of hysteria was reached, the cities ceased to operate as supply bases for guerrilla forces. Death in the cities was high, our forces having withdrawn to safe positions to avoid contagion. The breathing space was used to track down and eliminate hundreds of irregular groups engaging in punishing ambushing tactics. Our lines were consolidated. Resistance by organized and uninfected detachments of the enemy army continues high, but their position is, of course, hopeless. With amazing ingenuity they have constructed certain airfields which our bombers have, as yet, been unable to locate. But it is merely a question of time. It is regretted that so many of the naval vessels of the enemy were permitted to escape the surprise attacks, as they are definitely hampering supply.
REPORT BY COMMANDING GENERAL, ARMIES OF DEFENSE, TO THE PROVISIONAL PRESIDENT: Supply and manpower is no longer adequate to permit the utilization of standard military tactics. All our forces are now concentrated in mountainous regions in positions which cannot be overrun except by Invader infantry. Alt labor battalions are now engaged in the construction of defensive points. All future offensive action will be limited to patrols. It is thus recommended that the production facilities now housed in the natural caves be utilized entirely for small arms ammunition, mortar projectiles, pack howitzer ammunition. Strategy will be to make any penetration of our lines too expensive to be undertaken. The critical factor is, as previously stated, food supply.
EXCERPT FROM STENOGRAPHIC RECORD, MEETING OF PROVISIONAL CABINET CALLED BY PRESIDENT TO HEAR PROPOSAL OF GUERRILLA LEADER:
President: I wish to explain, gentlemen, that Joseph Morgan, with four of his men parachuted behind our lines from an aircraft stolen, at great cost to his organization, from the Invader airfield twenty miles west of Daylon. Two of his men were shot by our troops as they landed.